Shadow of a Tiny Flame
by jiemae
Summary: The shadow of a single flame is too weak to see, but it burns as steady as all the others. [SI-OC. Repost of Will of Fire.]
1. evanesce for the winter

**Edited by Enbi & jiemae**

* * *

 **Shadow of a Tiny Flame**

* * *

 _SHE COULD NOT SEE THE SPRING  
_ AS IT BURNED AWAY TOO QUICK

* * *

 **evanesce for the winter**

* * *

"Girls!"

She cringed immediately, reflexively.

Miho didn't want to go to whatever lesson it was that their father had planned for them next. She would have really much rather just continued to enjoy the cup of tea in her palms while her sister chatted mindlessly beside her.

But that just didn't seem to be a very likely thing, and Miho had to resign herself to her fate.

She went to stand up from the engawa floor.

Fate had other ideas, it seemed, as soon as she did, something hard hit the back of her head. It sent her reeling and instinctively, she bit back the sharp yelp and the easy tears that wanted to spring forward.

"Miho-chan is crying again!"

"Yah!" Her indignant outcry rang in the air as she glared, spinning on her feet to regard the offender as bravely as she could allow herself. "You stupid boy!"

Beside her, Mito stiffened before placing her cup of tea off to the side and smoothing her dress as she stood up. She relaxed into the fighting stance that had come so easily to her when they started learning three months ago. Squinting her eyes, her sister released a fierce roar before springing off to race towards their second cousin, Yuusei.

Standing next to him was Kyuu, who promptly pointed and shouted out in reasonable fear, "Idiot! _Mito_ is coming after us now!"

"Leave my sister alone, you twerps!"

She felt hot and stuffy under the realization that she was only continuing to prove to be just as weepy as her village knew her to be. Always crying, always hiding, always shy.

The total opposite to what the Uzumaki stood for in their attitudes.

She couldn't help it then, and the tears she had been fighting so hard to keep at bay quickly coated her cheeks and dribbled down her chin.

"Girls!" the call came again.

The tears fell even harder as she heard the voice of their handmaid, Chigusa.

How awful…how utterly… _embarrassing_.

Chigusa came into view just in time to see Mito slamming Yuusei's head into the ground and Kyu trip over his own feet in a desperate attempt to crawl away.

Hand heading straight up to get friendly with her face, Chigusa released a loud sigh and ordered in a tone that begged no argument, "Stop crying already, stop beating up the neighborhood boys, and _come here right this instant_."

Face still damp and eyes puffy, Miho quickly traveled the distance and set foot in the requested destination before looking down at her toes in quiet shame.

"DATTEBA—!"

" _MITO. NOW._ "

" _Fine._ "

Her sister quickly joined her, arms crossed over her chest and her knuckles bloodied. Even amidst her bravado, she slid her gaze to meet Miho's before quietly whispering, "I'll get them back later for you, okay?"

"There will be none of that," Chigusa said in an immediate denial. "There are important guests arriving today and your father has already had enough things to worry about _without_ incidents provided by _your_ brand of chaos."

"Tch," Mito muttered bitterly, "fine, but I'm not going to get all prettied up for them, am I? You know I hate how stuffy those clothes are!"

Chigusa merely smiled and went on as if she hadn't heard a thing. "It's time to get ready for the banquet, my girls; the Senju Clan is moments away."

* * *

 **evanesce for the winter**

* * *

Moments meant hours in Chigusa speak as Miho and Mito found themselves being dressed up like dolls, spending more than the better half of an hour getting their clothes set up on their slight bodies. Mito _abhorred_ it. Miho did not. The younger twin couldn't help but grin at all the pretty colors they had chosen for them.

The only thing that bothered her was that they wore the exact same thing, down to the very last adjustment to their obiage. Which disappointed her for the pure reason of having wanted to see her sister in different colors other than the bright greens, oranges, and reds that she herself wore.

"Isn't it such a hassle though?" Mito whispered to Miho as they sat down to get their hair pinned and decorated, "We're only going to see them this once, it's wasteful to go through all of this effort when I could be out there practicing my katas."

Miho looked down to her swinging feet shyly as she wondered what to say in response.

After all, she liked clothes, and especially liked it when the handmaid's had their hands in her long locks of hair. It felt nice to be touched in ways that didn't necessarily hurt, although she admitted she would despise the later onset headache that would come inevitably.

She also couldn't help but be glad that the festival was happening, for reasons why Mito seemed to hate it—it got her out of the taijutsu practice that would later leave her too exhausted to even focus on her studies. Then there was the added fact that, when surrounded by pretty things and kind older women, the boys that taunted her for her weaknesses were nowhere in sight.

She hated the taunting most of all, if she were being honest.

She knew exactly why it happened and yet, despite all better attempts at fixing it, Miho felt that she would always be the embarrassment to the Uzumaki name—especially as the daughter to the clan head himself. It was absolutely _shameful_ to have a daughter so weak, so undoubtedly unfit to lead despite what was expected of her.

So, unsure of what to say that wouldn't bring up a new entire set of tears for the guilt that would keep her up that night, Miho just smiled as best she could while focusing on how to swing her feet without losing her geta.

Noticing her little game, Mito casually joined her with a small giggle, "What do you think they're going to be like?"

She understood immediately—they were talking about the Senju boys now.

All Miho could do was shrug. She didn't actually know many boys.

"Maybe like Yuusei-san? Or Kyu-san?"

At that, her sister wrinkled her nose considerably, "That would be _the worst_. Ugh, I can't believe Father wants one of them to be our future husbands. Well," Mito paused, tilting her chin up in thought, "one of _my_ future husbands. I don't think Father wants you to be in a shinobi family when you get older."

She nodded along because it was true, but looked away as her heart thudded harshly in her chest. It still hurt to know it.

Miho refused to cry, though, and moments later she looked back to her obviously concerned sister, "I'll just be a fuinjutsu master then, even if I don't fight."

Face filling with relief, Mito grinned, "That's the way to look at it!"

"Miho-chan will be a beautiful lady for a nobleman higher than her current station," one of the handmaids, Yukari, murmured sweetly. She was a kind fifteen-year-old girl who had found herself employed in their household just a year ago, having been able to pass the tests required of her in fuinjutsu. Miho had often found comfort with Yukari, who smiled with a lovely face and talked about the boys who all wanted to marry her.

Mito found her just a bit boring, which Miho had never been able to understand why.

Gossip seemed to follow her, it seemed, and Miho found that _ever_ so interesting. Apparently Yukari had fallen in love with a terribly mean and handsome man and the two planned to marry without her father's consent. But if it were true, the girl showed nothing of it.

"That life wouldn't be so bad, probably," Mito noted with an obviously forced, pity filled smile, and pulling Miho out of her thoughts.

"I bet I'll never get married," Miho murmured as the corners of her mouth quirked up, "I think I'd like to travel instead, 'ttekisa."

A true grin returned at the words as Mito pumped her fist up into the air. "Spoken like a true Uzumaki, 'ttebasa!"

Fumiko, the one working on Mito's hair, hissed at the movement, "Don't move! You'll ruin it!"

"Yeah, whatever, let it be ruined, 'ttebasa! I don't even care what they think about me!" Mito yelled, bringing her hands to cross over her stomach. Which wasn't very easy in a kimono, she soon found out as she struggled to bring her hands fully around.

Miho hid a demure giggle at the sight, bringing her hand to her mouth like how her mother had been teaching her.

"Ahh, Miho-chan is much more elegant than you," Fumiko noted, as she nodded, "she'll certainly make a fine wife for a Daimyo."

Miho tried not to cringe _too_ hard at the thought, because, really, traveling sounded a whole lot more fun.

* * *

 **evanesce for the winter**

* * *

The boys were interesting to look at, to say the least. Mostly because it was the first time for her to see someone with _two_ hair colors instead of one. She had been told that one was Itama, the third born son, who she had been told was her own age. There were four of them and he wasn't the youngest.

Miho wasn't told but she thought the oldest one might have been thirteen, the one with a bad haircut and what seemed to be a permanent smile on his face. Hashirama, she thought his name was... It was a nice name.

From there, it was the second born, Tobirama, then finally the youngest, Kawarama.

She didn't know what to make out of any of them, but thankfully they seemed to be avoiding the twins. Or, at the very least, _her._

It would certainly explain why every single time she tried to properly introduce herself, Miho either found herself with a puff of smoke in her face or was told to look at something far away—a trick she found herself falling for _every time._

Either way, the boys weren't the main focus of the event.

Their parents were, as it was the start to their clan's pact with one another. Miho didn't know too much of the details but she thought that perhaps it was one of the greater relationships her clan had ever had with outsiders—because they didn't have very many to begin with.

The Senju had promised to send them crops by ships, which Miho had noticed had been quite the trouble with her friends at the orphanage. It was probably why her father had offered in return to gift them with seals, powerful ones too. The sort that the Uzumaki gave out when it was someone they knew they could trust.

Miho thought that came from Butsuma having saved her father's life in one of the battles the Uzumaki had waged no less than a year ago. It had been one of the most fearful times in her life, and a little part of her felt disappointed to be avoided by the Senju when she simply wanted to thank the great men that had gotten her father home.

But before she could do it, first there was the ceremony.

With her fingers clenched tightly into her father's, standing to the left of him, her entire immediate family walked up the steps up the platform where the Senju would come to stand on as well. There, trying not to shake like a leaf in the wind when it came to being watched by more than five hundred eyes, Miho struggled not to hide behind his leg.

Trying especially hard as the Senju main family came up to meet them, notably with no women in line, Miho bravely met each other their gazes as her hold on her father's fingers tightened to an almost painful extent.

"Here, we are brought together on this night to become united as one," her father's voice rang out, clear as the night in which they found themselves, surrounded by glowing torches hung up high, "because a life debt is not easy to pay, as it can only be repaid when another life is saved in return. It is because of this, in the trust that we have in the honor of our new brothers and sisters, that we find ourselves in a joining that will allow us all to prosper with equal trade in skill and in harvest."

"Here we are brought together on this night to become united as one," Butsuma echoed with a sure nod and a fierce smile to go together with it.

Then, as Mito had been instructed to earlier, she was the one to initiate the joining of hands as her fingers went into the hands of the oldest brother, Hashirama. Miho followed shortly after to clasp her shaking hands with Kawarama, who tried to reassure her with a squeeze. Yet it only made her flinch, too afraid to mess up in that moment.

Around them, Miho completely caught unaware of it herself, cheers raised around them, and then in swift movements the rest of their combined clan members joined hands. Tingles raised up her spine but before she could shake it off, voices began to peek out and before long, their voices rose into a chorus of melodies and strength.

It was the song of trust, so old that Miho's mind boggled at the thought that everyone somehow knew how to sing it justly and with all the lyrics intact like they'd all been born knowing it. She herself had learned it when she was young, about four, and had since then sung it only five times more.

This would be her sixth.

* * *

 **evanesce for the winter**

* * *

It was in the following celebration that Miho got her chance to properly thank the man who had saved her father's life.

"So this is your second daughter," Butsuma said with a grin, reaching out a hand to ruffle her hair, only to stop when realized that probably wasn't the best idea.

Miho moved to cling behind her father's leg, fingers tightening on his ceremonial robes. She didn't want her hair messed with if she could help it, already she was feeling a hint of a headache and she didn't want anyone to make it worse.

Still, this was the man that had saved her father's life and she didn't treat that matter lightly.

As loud as she dared to be, she thanked him. It was a second later that she remembered her manners and separated herself from her father long enough to go into a bow.

She didn't know what to expect in his response but laughter wasn't among her guesses. Definitely not the boisterous, world shaking guffaws that left her staring up at him, puzzled.

"She's a cute one, ain't she?" her father said, joining in with a laugh of his own.

"She'll be the spitting image of her mother, that's for sure," Butsuma said, smiling from ear to ear before going in again to ruffle her hair. This time he didn't catch his mistake and it took her ducking away to be able to miss.

Which only sent him into another round of laughter.

Frowning, Miho realized that she wasn't certain if she liked the Senju clan leader. He was very _loud_.

She decided to run away.

* * *

 **evanesce for the winter**

* * *

Miho learned at a young age that if she only stepped back, she could stop being noticed, that she could breathe comfortably in the shadows.

Although this trick had been used when very few populated the main house—the same could not be said for when there were guests crawling around the grounds every which way as she attempted to dodge them all. It grew to be harder to pass out of sight with there always being five more others that would simply notice her movement and stare at her like she was a sight to behold.

They always cooed at her, calling her 'Miho-hime' although she had no claim to being a princess and didn't really want to be one either. She noticed that when her sister was with her, they never called _her_ names like that, so why was she so different?

She thought it might have been because they recognized weakness, like built-in weakness radars that led them all to her. Miho hated that feeling the most, with people looking at her as if she were something 'other'. She hated them not having a reason to do it, only seeming to like looking at her simply because she was what most would call 'cute'.

Yet, always, they never called Mito those silly pet names. In fact, they all almost had this innately respectful attitude when meeting her, like they would have treated their father. Well, actually, that was a stretch—but _still_.

The point was that somehow, despite them being identical twins, they could be told apart in an almost instant fashion.

Which only meant one thing; to the very core she was different, and to the very core, more than anything, she craved to be called 'the girls' at least once more. At least then she could be seen beside someone strong and made more so for it.

Because soon…as was inevitable, Miho would be the exact opposite from her remarkable sister.

Now, being faced with the truth as she ran to escape to her room, Miho wanted nothing more than to disappear. Most likely already knowing too well that dreams didn't come true unless people deserved it. There was not a doubt in her mind; she would never be called 'strong' or anything like it.

So, in what had become an unbreakable habit, Miho found herself hiding away in her room, too afraid to face the real truth.

* * *

 **evanesce for the winter** **– end**

* * *

Hello again! This is a repost and I'm very happy with the fixes and edits to this chapter, especially because a good friend of mine helped _so_ much with them. This story will have a weekly update as I already had nineteen chapters already written before I took it down. Not much is changing in this new version, but it is definitely cleaner (especially thanks to **Enbi** ).

If you notice any spelling errors and mistakes, please let me know!


	2. a flower called anemone

**Edited by Enbi & jiemae**

* * *

 **Shadow of a Tiny Flame**

* * *

 _So—rather than to birth within her a desire for the whole truth—for him, she stood back in solitude, postponed all answers, and ate the words she still didn't have the courage to say._

* * *

 **a flower called anemone**

* * *

"Don't cry, you big baby, 'ttekisa," Miho whispered to herself as she faced away from the mess she had just made with the vegetables.

Blood dripped from the tip of her third finger, reminding her a bit of the stream wayside to her mother's garden. Knife in the other palm, Miho held back the big fat tears that had built up at the waterline of her eyes.

That task was a failure from the start. They spilled over the edges just after she felt the shudder of the raw searing pain that seeped from her wound. Hot tears coated her chubby cheeks and as quietly as she could manage, she drew in a long shuddering breath.

Her whimpering came second to her increased embarrassment, and it became even more evident what would happen soon.

"What's the big problem _now_?" Orino asked, voice impatient as Miho heard signs of skin, thinking it was an arm or hand hitting fabric. She could only assume it meant that the head cook was slapping off the flour that came with making mochi.

"Nothing," Miho warbled out and drew back, waiting for the usual harsh sigh that came with the faults in her personality. She understood it well. It wasn't just them—she hated herself too, hated being this way. But the crux of the matter was that she had no idea on how to be anything _but_ what she already _was._

It didn't change reality, just wishing for it.

"Go outside, wash your hands, and come back after you've calmed down," Orino ordered, most likely fed up with having to look after the youngest daughter in the house while her sister was out with their father, actually _training_.

Miho, suffice to say, felt miserable as she scuttled out of the kitchen and down the stepping stones that openly lead to an exposed freshwater pond. She hurried forward—in fear that she would take too long—before crouching in front of the slowly lapping water. Her attentive, puffy eyes centered in on the tiny sprinkling of fishes before her vision became blurred by the new round of tears that sprung up, unbidden and unwanted.

"I'm pathetic, 'ttekisa."

Still, her cut hurt too much and her body continued to shake visibly from the pain.

How badly she wanted a body more similar to her sisters. She ached only for the ability to be right there beside Mito, learning the katas and following the regiments everyone else her age did. Maybe then, she would be able to excel in the places that the boys had always teased her for being weak in. That way, she could stop being such a bother to everyone.

"Wishes don't come true very often, do they?" Miho whispered before dipping her trembling hand into the water before her feet.

"Not with an attitude like that, they won't," a new voice interjected, causing Miho to nearly wet herself from surprise. She fell back, and a hand darted out, clutching onto her shoulder, and right in front of her obscured vision she saw something red.

As fast as she could, she blinked the tears out of her eyes before rubbing them away with her clean fingers. It was only after that she allowed herself to gaze up at the familiar looking boy whose hair was brown and his expression warm.

In his hand was a mere, single red flower.

"You're…Senju Hashirama, aren't you?" Miho asked, battling shock and the pain still searing her skin. She blinked once more at his confident nod—and that was when it hit her.

 _Hold on a sec…_

"You're Senju Hashirama!" She couldn't tell exactly why she said it again, but it seemed to solidify the fact that standing right in front of her was the son of her father's closest friend. The nice one, to boot, as the one with the pretty white hair didn't seem to like her very much from the first and last meeting they shared. Although, his other two brothers could be even nicer—she had still yet to meet them cordially, even though she knew their names by heart, courtesy of Chigusa's nagging.

The boy that stood before her laughed, causing her cheeks to redden in response. It was then that she turned very, very quiet and still.

Hashirama blinked before cocking his head, "What's wrong, Miho-chan?"

She swallowed in an instant, blinking as his words hit her again. _He's just asked me a question…_

She didn't know what to say.

Clamming up, Miho pursed her lips tightly together, watching in abject horror as he frowned. Then, to her amazement, he sat right down next to her. Her nerves scattered everywhere.

"I…uh, saw this flower, you know. It sort of reminded me of you," Hashirama began, lifting the red flower into focus. She looked at it in uncertainty, noting how pretty it was in its color and vibrancy. Its petals looked to be so earnest, so honest in the way they caressed his palm, sitting there as if it were a small simple teacup.

Then…

She sucked in a breath, yelping out as she smacked it out of his hand. "It's poisonous, 'ttekisa! Anemone are poisonous, 'ttekisa! Quick, give me your hand, 'ttekisa!" Miho wasted no time in snatching his palm before shoving it into the water, ignoring the way her cut burned in response. She attempted to tear a bit off her knee-length kimono but she was too weak. Instead, she dipped her long sleeve into the water to use as a rag. She couldn't get to scrubbing at the infected areas fast enough, it felt.

"Woah, slow down, Miho-chan," Hashirama exclaimed, regarding her with surprise as he gave her a good-natured grin. She paused in her actions, only then taking the time to realize how idiotic she must have looked to him.

"Sorry," she whispered, and fought hard against the new set of tears that sprung up in response at the sense of shame she felt. Miho loathed herself at that very moment. Huffing out a soft sigh, she stood, bowed lowly, and turned to rush away to find a place to cry in peace.

"W-wait! Miho-cha—!"

But she was too far away.

* * *

 **a flower called anemone**

* * *

The next day was far more hectic, and she tried to think little of the rush of people coming from all directions around her. Worse than that—and impossible to ignore—was the noise and the shrieking and that sense of _suffocating_ beneath a hot blanket of sweltering heat.

Still, she was running in it.

"Miho! Get your tiny little round bottom back here!" The handmaid cried out, splayed fingers soaring out to snatch the slight girl in mid-run. "Hasegawa-san, catch her for me, please!"

Not to be had, the young girl darted out of reach, cutting back to nearly dodge an elbow in her haste to catch up to her already running sister. That was the fun part about being short; you could make almost anybody taller than you look like a bumbling fool for a change—never mind the fact that she would feel terribly guilty for it later.

The elderly instructor fumbled with his attempt to reel in the young eight-year-old, who mercilessly made a grand show of fainting to the left before shifting to the right. She barely just missed the corner of a crate smelling of sweet peaches and melons. Her shoulders squished in, half of her feeling the guilt upon hearing a deep male voice cry out. It was soon followed by the sounds of chaos and wreckage that she refused to look back and see.

" _Mito_ ," she screeched, shaking any shred of shame off at sounding out of breath, "not fair! I'm not as tall as you!"

The mischievous redhead barely spared a glance, only taking a small second to reach her tiny, milk-pale hand out to her younger sister. Their fingers slipped against each other before their palms collided. Mito tugged her none too gently as she dragged her closer.

Miho's yelp could be heard among the mass of similar childish noises, body jerking forward as the two of them picked up speed. She shrieked as they were sent careening and flying beneath the waving arms in the hectically crowded streets. Shouts of the people filtered in from all around them; sharp, rich, and light, the voices carried to the young Uzumaki's heightened senses.

Aggrieved, she winced at the touch of Mito's palm against hers, noticing the painful way her delicate skin bunched up at her sandaled feet. They slapped against the rocky, paved street and each time it was made worse. However, Miho bit down any complaints, hoping only to be seen as wild and untamed as her tricky sister and far from the image she had built up in their clan so far.

They continued to run, passing by street vendors and stalls by the dozens before Mito took a sharp turn to the side, tugging Miho into a clear alleyway. Miho held back the sharp howl that pressed to be released, wincing when she hit her elbow against the edge of the building. Her body shook before she took to hopping around the deserted stretch of land in search of a place to rest.

It wasn't before long that she felt a hand touch her, and Mito fell to her knees to rub the pain away gently for her tinier sister. She didn't say anything, but it only hurt more because of it.

Blinking away the dots that blurred her vision and trying not to think of the pain, Miho took in a gulp of air and squinted at her barely winded sibling apprehensively. "So, now what?"

"We'll be headed to the orphanage, of course. I'm sure Isaku-kun and Yama-chan are wondering why we're so late."

"It's your fault," Miho muttered lowly, thinking back to the trouble of before with their handmaid, "we could have just asked Okaa-san if we could visit our friends. Now, Chigusa-san will be angry at us when we get back…"

Mito merely grinned at her. "But you followed along, and now we'll both get the blame. Besides, it's fun this way. Hasegawa-san needs to get out more and, you know, we're sort of helping them both in a way."

Perturbed and just a little bit disgruntled, Miho held herself firmly back from her sister and jutted her chin out purposely, "How does Chigusa-san benefit with having her charges leave her every which way?"

With a grandiose flip of her hair, Mito placed a palm on her hip before answering, "Didn't you know? They both have a thing for each other. We're just getting Hasegawa-san in shape for the day he takes her to his bed."

To be clear, she hadn't the faintest clue of what any of that meant.

But her cheeks burned furiously with what she could only assume was the implied message.

"I-I don't understand, Mito-chan."

Mito rolled her eyes and gave a gentle pat to her younger sister's shoulder, "Just don't worry about it then, you're still young."

"Yah! Really, Mito-chan, we're the same age!" Miho released a low growl before huffing out a sigh, "I'm not stupid…I know…a little bit about that adult stuff." She very nearly choked on air as she spoke the words, bringing her cool palms up to pacify the burning in her cheeks.

Her sister promptly snorted, "Twins and yet so different—but I guess that's your charm. I'm sure Otou-san will have no issues in pairing you with a high ranking man like everyone always says."

Miho turned pale before fiercely shaking her head, "I'm not ever getting married, Mi-chan, you know that."

Mito had a private snicker to herself, bringing her hand up to barely cover the sight of her teeth, "Yeah, I know. You and your strange fear of men."

The flush returned in full power as Miho coughed, looking down to her sandaled feet in an attempt to hide the shame in her eyes. "It's not… _all_ men. Just the scary ones."

Because she had been able to talk to a boy before...

Sort of.

The older of the two rolled her eyes, "Whatever, we're wasting daylight with this chit chat. We gotta hurry up to the orphanage."

"R-right," Miho said, nodding as the two of them quickly took off down the alleyway, finding their way to the only place that offered the sanctuary and peace they both so earnestly craved.

The orphanage was a place that was, in short, shambles in comparison to every other place in the village of Uzushio. The wood was weak and creaky, most likely due to the fact that it sat so very close to the sea. The wind tended to be too harsh on this specific shore, the strong ocean current sweeping up the coast, smacking roughly up against the stilts that diligently held up the building.

Still, it was the twin's favorite place to hang out, to just be with their friends.

"It's the twins!" Cried a sudden voice, from a boy looking on from the window.

Mito grinned openly at him while Miho blinked dumbly. Then her eyes widened as soon as she recognized one of the newest charges of the orphanage. His name was Genta and he was rather friendly to her, for the most part. She decided that he didn't mean ill will with the calling of their second, and just as abhorred, nickname.

"Watch out, ya idiot!" Yama yelled out loudly, coming up from behind the boy who had hair the color of raspberries. The obdurate girl promptly swung and slapped at the back of his head.

Genta jumped up in surprise and looked up at her guiltily, "What is it this time, Yama-san!?"

"Yama-chan is fast with training," Mito noted and Miho bit back the giggle that wanted to spring free. Instead, she settled with a nod and a smile.

The two girls climbed up the stairs that lead to the doors of the orphanage and opened them just in time to hear Yama exclaim, "They don't like to be called that, ya dope! This is why we can't trust you to remember squat!"

"I-I'll try to remember from now on then, Yama-san!"

"Maybe we just have to smack it into his head?" Isaku suggested as he came into quick view of the girls, along with his following of kids younger than his ten years of age. 'Aniki', they liked to call him. Unlike Yama, who liked to keep it straight and simple that she had no real familial ties with them aside from clan, Isaku tended to love kids to the point that he often even became a mother figure to even Miho.

Never Mito, though. That would have been weird as she was kind of like a father in her own right to all of them.

"Leave him alone, you might make him even stupider," her sister went in to say, laughing to herself, "Ain't that right, Miho-chan?"

 _Chigusa-san is going to be mad later that Mito isn't using proper words._

She kept the thought to herself as she settled on saying instead, "Ah, I like Genta-kun this way. It's best not to push it." To accompany her words, she slid a warm smile in his direction.

The seven-year-old jumped forward in excitement, making her nearly fall back in blatant surprise. He paid no heed to the effect of his actions before he released a shout, "Yeah, yeah, she _likes_ me!"

"No way," Isaku spoke up, glaring darts in his direction, "she likes me more! Don'tcha, Miho-chan?"

She felt her face rise in heat as everyone shifted their heads up to look at her. Beyond the obvious, she had zero idea on what they were even asking about and why even her _sister_ had turned to stare at her.

"I-I like both of them, but I've known Isaku-kun the longest…so, him?" It was way too hard to stutter the words out, but she was slightly impressed with herself that she managed to do it at all. At the very least, she felt victorious for it.

"No fair!" Genta whined, "I was so _sure_ that I had finally dethroned you!"

"It'll take a few years for _that_ to happen," Mito noted dryly before grinning her toothiest grin, "but we're wasting daylight! Let's hit the beach, and later, we prank the 'unprankable' Watanabe-san!"

Her words were only met by a chorus of cheers in regards to her idea. Miho giggled and nodded along with them.

It really was the only place she could still be a kid.

* * *

 **a flower called anemone**

* * *

Later that night, she tried to sleep and to dream of something other than nightmares.

Nights for her were strange things, often times disorienting and weird. Something that made her glad to see daylight.

There had yet to be a night that she didn't see the confusing scenes that looked right out of a picture book. In fact, she couldn't recall a time when she hadn't been at least a little put out by them. Or even a tiny bit sad. It was stranger yet, because among the chaos of incomplete visions and nonsensical realities, there was something far more concerning.

It lingered, the dream she had dreamed the most.

Something about metal scraping against metal, rigorous breathing, high and low pitched voices careening into the air haplessly as they rose higher and higher into screams; shrieks. Something about her entire body being filled with fear and adrenaline, pulsing with the energy and the knowledge that she wouldn't be able to last long. Something more about how disconnected she felt and the surreal layer that she could not escape from. She hadn't expected it. _It_ was all so bizarre, so terrifying that it was hard to pinpoint exactly what bothered her so much about _it_.

Or what it had even been in the first place.

She couldn't make sense of it still and it _tormented_ her.

Well, then again, that dream only came on particularly _bad_ days.

Days where the pain of her body was at its worse.

Miho sat up in her futon and sighed miserably into her hands, resisting the strong urge to cry when images of liquid red came to her mind. Her legs throbbed beneath the hot layer of her blanket but she tried not to pay her mind towards it.

She needed to think of something else.

Sometimes she would get caught up in her world, just her thoughts and nothing else. It was times like this, right after a scary dream, that she would realize just how terrifying her world was in the end.

It was, if she thought about it, far worse than any other dream she could think of—not even the one about a silver haired boy crying in front of a sink with visions of blood stained hands could surpass what she knew to be the everyday life and death of her world.

She read too much, perhaps. As far as she lived, she had never experienced anything close to tragedy but it didn't change the reality she knew existed in the world. The stories she was told by Chigusa when she was feeling more mean than nice, and sometimes catching the sight of nearly dead men being rushed to care.

Her life wasn't unbearable—in fact, it was quite the opposite. She knew, being the daughter of the head of clan, that her life was far more pristine and posh than many, _many_ others. Especially _because_ she was a girl, which was the main reason why her family didn't try harder to make her into a shinobi.

It was almost destined that she'd be married off like Mito had said before, due to her being of no real use in terms of the fighting that her clan did with others. She simply couldn't help them. The wars they fought were too dangerous and she knew she could never make it in a battle. Even _with_ her fuinjutsu.

It was a wonder in and of itself that her father still insisted on getting her into the practice of it when she had failed so horribly with all of her other training. Perhaps he noticed her growth in her academics instead? It was both likely and unlikely. He never did praise her for it if he noticed at all—and he was never the type to be short of praise when it was well deserved, as seen in the case of her sister.

Miho huffed out a sigh, debating in her head the ultimate question that had always lingered in her head: did she even really want to fight?

It was so terribly scary, just imagining how horrible it would be to have to hurt to someone else, to be the one to end an existence, to shut the book on someone else's story. She couldn't stomach even the thought of it and hated that most everyone in the world had no choice in the matter. Survival came first, and she understood that.

One of her most hidden thoughts—the one she hadn't even had the guts to tell Mito—was that she was, in a way, _glad_ that she was so very inept. Otherwise, she's be killed before she was even at the age for marriage and that didn't sound very tempting. (Though, nor did the marriage.)

But then she reminded herself that if she fell into thoughts like those, the useless and weak ones, then she'd be no different than the shinobi who walked away from a fight. They were the type of people that her dad often discussed at dinner banquets with the voice of disgust and shame. He could talk about her like that if he knew the truth.

He'd know she was selfish then.

Troubled by the sudden guilt that sprang forward, Miho stood up from her futon and padded quietly out of the room that she shared with her sister. She spared a glance to assess her twin's sleeping face, noting the way the moonlight hit the strands of her haphazardly strewn hair before Miho stepped out the shoji door.

She was still in pain, but she limped her way onto the engawa deck.

By this point, Miho was no stranger to walks in the dark, although she used to be afraid of them when she was younger. That was before she realized how nice it was to be alone with nature, free of the persistent sounds that came hand in hand with the culture of her clan. It helped to have the stars to look at and distract her.

Slowly, almost like the stray cats she would spot wandering the village, Miho came to sit on the wooden deck right outside her bedroom door. There, she blinked up at the moon and noticed only then that the sakura trees had started to bloom right in front of her.

The pink petals danced in the wind, flourishing brilliantly amidst the moonlight glimmering in the clearing.

She couldn't help it, the song came on its own to her mind as she gave a testing hum of the melody in her head.

Then, before long, she was singing, eyes locked only on the sight of the moon and the breathtaking display. Her voice was tiny and small, weak as she started and yet slowly but surely, confidence took its place in her.

With the image of beauty for inspiration before her, she sang the gentle song.

"Sakura, sakura, blanketing the countryside as far as you can see. Is it a mist, or clouds? Fragrant in the morning sun, sakura, sakura. Flowers in full bloom. Sakura, sakura, across the spring sky as far as you can see. Is it a mist, or clouds? Fragrant in the air, come now, come. Let's look, at last!"

The tune of the song, the very melody, made her heart ache for some strange reason. Almost like she was missing something. She clutched at her chest before a happier song came to mind, albeit a bit more out of place.

"Rainy day, rainy day, I like it; my mother will come here with my umbrella. Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, run! Bag on my shoulder, I follow my mother; a bell is ringing somewhere. Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, ru—"

"Oh, oh, that girl is dripping wet; she is crying under the willow," a new voice suddenly interjected, strikingly familiar and yet foreign all at the same time. Miho quickly seized up, startled out of her wits before hearing the voice continue on with the song. "Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, run! Mother, mother, I'll lend my umbrella; 'Hi girl, use this umbrella.' Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, run! I am all right, don't worry. Mother will take me in her big umbrella. Pitch, pitch, chap, chap, run, run, run!"

The stranger came into view then, leaving the shadows that came from the foliage beside the stone garden right outside her door. She blinked, and felt her soul sink to the very tips of her toes before she breathed, "Senju Hashirama…?"

He scratched at his chin, possibly in good humor, "Why is it that this feels like it's happened before?"

Miho shrugged, swallowing thickly. Somehow, she managed a soft, "I dunno."

"Probably because it has," Hashirama easily answered for himself—and, just like before, he made himself at home right next to her. "You have a very pretty voice, by the way."

She said nothing, refusing to let him wrangle the words out of her in case he only meant to make a fool out of her. After all, she had a right to be suspicious. Only her sister and the few hard earned friends she had would treat her this nicely, and this boy was a complete stranger!

"Ah, you sure sounded sad, though. Something the matter?"

Miho squinted up at him, still wordless.

"I'm guessing you had a bad dream, then."

She fought off the chill that ran up her spine and down to her fingertips. How could he be so spot-on accurate? It wasn't fair.

"I know because you have the same look Itama sometimes has when he wakes up from one."

"Oh."

She winced just as she realized what she had done. She wished she could just shut up forever.

"Ah, come on, Miho-chan. I'm not so bad." Hashirama looked to her earnestly, reaching his hand out to…poke her.

Her brow twitched.

His finger went to her nose as she turned to look at him.

Her eyes twitched next.

"Poke," he said quietly, and then flicked her in the forehead.

She hissed at the sharp pain, turning to glare at him, "Alright, alright! I'll talk...meanie."

"I must be doing _something_ right if that's the worst insult you can think of," he joked, knocking his shoulder with hers. She bit back the grunt of pain as he went on, "So, what's been eating at you? Is it the anemone thing? Because that was just me being stupid, it wasn't your fault at all."

She winced at the reminder of her embarrassment before turning to look at him. She spoke in all seriousness as she summoned the courage to speak honestly, "It's not that, it's our world."

"Our world? What about it bothers you?"

She huffed out a sigh, lifting up her bare feet in the air as she looked away and mumbled, "I think it's unfair and cruel. It's filled with a bunch of mean bad guys who like to pick on others and even _kill_ them. I mean, why is there even such a thing called war? And why do we accept it so easily as fact that we have to make everyone fight so viciously?"

"I dunno, I can't say I've ever really thought about it…but I do agree. It is pretty sad," his expression turned conflicted, "But I don't think it's just that. This world, these people, they really are capable of great things, y'know? Maybe one day there will be a world filled with kind people like you, who are willing to risk themselves to save idiots from poisonous flowers."

Miho went to meet his gaze and it struck her cheeks with a bright red the moment they did. Her heart sped up in that confusing manner, and she was lost for a quick moment. It took another second to come back down to reality and when she did, she sighed. She shouldn't get so worked up over things, she thought, gently tapping the back of her heels to the side of the deck.

The pain was almost good to feel. Almost.

"What now?" he asked, but unlike how it was usually said, harsh and fed-up, he only seemed to be filled with kindness and warmth.

She couldn't lie to a person like this—it would hurt her far too much to respond to such honest words with mere filth.

Miho swallowed her insecurities, then to him, she mumbled, "That would be nice…but at this rate, we'll never live to see it happen. We'll be long dead for that."

Hashirama went quiet for a moment, tilting his head to the side in thought before he turned to her. The grin on his face took her breath away as he snatched her hand into his own and shouted out as if he were tasting victory, "I know! We can just be the ones to _make_ it happen!"

 _Be the ones...to make it happen?_

The words rang in her head like the bell that announced the start of a festival in the village of Uzushio. Along with it, she felt the exact same rush as she did in times like those. Her veins went into overdrive as her pulse quickened, like her heart could burst out of her chest at any second.

Miho couldn't resist; she grinned as broadly as she could manage and responded in kind, "It's silly to think that we could be the ones to do it, but…I like it!"

Hashirama paused, eyes widening before his cheeks darkened with a blush—or so she assumed. Her smile fell with uncertainty.

"Pretty," he finally breathed, swallowing, "you're prettiest when you're smiling."

Her brows shot up in shock and surprise. A boy had never told _her_ that. Her sister had in the past, but it wasn't the same.

She went silent once more, being engulfed inch by inch in her racing thoughts. What did it _mean,_ though? She wasn't too sure and knew it was only a matter of time when she'd be caught endlessly ruminating on an answer to it. She had to ask.

Alarmed, she glued her eyes to the swaying grass in front of her.

She couldn't ask.

"Miho-chan," Hashirama went on, unperturbed by her silence, "we should make a promise."

"Promise?" She echoed.

"Yeah, a promise. Look, I'll be leaving the island after three more days and it's looking like my clan is going to have a clash with this other big clan, so… I can't exactly see you for a while. And I know we just met and all, but I can kinda see how awfully shy you are and—it can't be good."

"Where are you going with this?" Miho asked, hesitating while trying not to flinch at his words.

"Just," he took a breath and looked at her so seriously, it was how she had to take him, "Promise me that you won't give up and that you'll be there with me, trying to change the world. Because I know that's where I want to be." Hashirama grinned then, full set of teeth shining bright in the moonlight.

Miho swallowed down the voice in her head that wanted to tell him how inept and worthless she was, how he was wasting breath asking this of her. But something in her stopped before it could be said. She merely smiled back, a softer one than last time, and nodded.

Hashirama nodded back, and stood up with his hands patting down his kimono, "I should be getting back then. I'll see you tomorrow if I can!"

"O-okay!"

He was gone as suddenly as he had showed up, disappearing out of sight and down the hall in his sure-footed ways. Miho couldn't help but giggle.

Feeling just a bit giddy, she sighed with contentment. It was then that a strange idea popped into her head, as if having waited for the opportunity.

That's when she traced it into the dirt. She had no clue on what it could possibly mean, but she had a feeling it was something precious. It contained…an entire world of meaning, seemingly lost to even her own thoughts.

三九。

"Sankyuu?" she repeated, her tone soft.

She figured it at least meant something positive.

* * *

 **a flower called anemone – end**

* * *

These edits are freeing my soul and **Enbi** is helping me do it. She is a writing goddess.

Song for this chapter; 月の純 | Colors of the Moon by Signal-E

* * *

References Explained:

 _Sakura, Sakura_ , the first song she sings, is the name of a children's song in Japan. It's actually very beautiful, with a hauntingly sad sound to it.

 _Rainy Day_ (amefuri), the second song, is also a children's song with a happier, more laid back but upbeat tune.

三九 – Sankyu (Thank You), it's a number pun that's common in Japanese slang. Just like how 801 stands for yaoi. San (三) stands for three, and kyuu (九) stands for nine. Yay for number puns!


	3. promises to keep

**Edited by jiemae**

* * *

 **Shadow of a Tiny Flame**

* * *

 _In a momentary silence, scattered in the darkness, turned out to be countless words lost to the wind and without a destination._

* * *

 **promises to keep**

* * *

"Back straight!" Hayami shouted, whacking at Miho's poor form and she had to hold back a loud yelp. Tears collected at the edges of her eyes, and though she had to suck in a shaky breath, Miho obeyed the orders she could follow. In the end, she gazed down at yet another heartbreaking failure. "That is _not_ much better. How can even something like the _seiza_ position be impossible to you?"

She couldn't speak up, in fear that the truth of the matter would spout out of her terribly loose lips. After all, she had been told by Mito, of all people, to keep her twisted ankle a secret. All because they wanted their parents kept in the dark about their time running around with the orphans. After the last time they'd snuck off, they'd been grounded for it and her sister feared that their father would grow suspicious and ban them from having any fun for the foreseeable future. She couldn't have that—her free time with her friends had been the only things keeping her _sane_.

Miho hadn't been faring so well since the departure of the main members of the Senju clan. Instead, she found herself missing them, her heart sore in a way that begged only questions but gave no answers.

Then again, Miho hadn't been expecting that her koto lessons would start that afternoon. She didn't know why she was surprised. As of late, it seemed her father was getting more insistent with her studies. One might have thought that it would be something to be happy about, to appreciate that her busy father still thought of her often. She tried to see it that way, but she just couldn't.

Instead, she knew what it actually meant; he'd given up on her learning how to fight. He'd given up on her ever having merit within the Uzumaki clan. It was never so clear as it was then. He wanted her to marry outside of the family like everyone was always saying. After all, he'd already exempted her from taijutsu classes. There was only so many ways he could spell it.

 _Just accept it_ , she told herself, _don't make a big deal out of nothing!_

She tried to have hope.

It was clear and obvious to see that he was actually primping her to be the wife of a lord, or maybe even one of those pretty girls at the houses with makeup caked upon their soft flesh. She didn't really know much about that sort of girl though.

Miho would have sabotaged the plan in a heartbeat, had it not been her love for music. In fact, it had even taken her by surprise. She'd always loved listening to her mother sing her to sleep, or the choruses of the festivals but she had never laid her eyes on anything so perfect.

Staring down at the strings of the wooden instrument, she had not expected the shivers or the rush of excitement that cascaded down her pale skin. Already in her head, the sounds of the plucked strings hummed in her head like a ghost from the past. It gave her a moment of thought, trying to think of the first time she'd ever heard music played.

It was as if the very voice of a god had spoken to her, telling her that this was the life she was destined to live.

It _had_ to be why nothing else was working, this was _fate_.

Then her chest began to ache, having begun to grasp the identity of her savior from ineptitude. Music, no matter where it took her, would become her path in life.

Or so she had thought.

Quickly after what had been a life altering meeting, she had become acquainted with a woman even meaner than Chigusa—on a _bad_ day. Hayami Takemura was what Miho had only dreamt of in nightmares. Somehow, she had both the look of a strict man and the regal bearing of a lady in the higher ranks. Her thin black eyebrows tilted up dangerously as she assessed the meek, quiet mouse-like Miho, and it was those cold ice blue eyes that struck the young eight-year-old with fear.

To add to it, Hayami carried a leather whip around like it was nothing, and did not hesitant when using it.

Her nerves were alight with anxiety and terror as she struggled to pay attention to the directives.

This had become her existence in the short fifteen minutes since her life had altered so drastically.

"Is that all your will amounts to?" Hayami asked, piercing through Miho's thoughts when she realized her back had sagged without her realizing.

She nibbled delicately on her bottom lip before sucking on it and, determined, shook her head. Even so, the tears dribbled down her chin, and she resisted the urge to wipe them away with the sleeve of her furisode. Instead, she huffed out a breath from her nose and corrected her face the best way she could, with it still being covered in salty tears.

She had to become stronger, if she were to become worthy of what destiny she could see in front of her.

Miho would have only to fight against the pain and follow instructions. She knew she could do it; she _had_ to do it.

She sucked in a breath and looked to Hayami for more information as her teacher scowled down at her with something akin to disgust. But she couldn't look away, as all she could do to protect her future was watch her newest challenge look kunai into her tiny form.

Miho would later question how she was able to accomplish _that_ on her own. But she supposed she was just merely sick and tired of being weak all the time.

It was time to impress _Mito_ for a change.

"I suppose that position is acceptable for now, but I do want you to sit only in that form from this moment on until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, sensei!"

"Now," Hayami began, procuring a pouch of something beneath her ocean blue obi, "it's time to find the tsume that fits for your tiny fingers. Give me your hand and tell me if the squeeze is too painful, or if it's too loose. I'll get a more properly sized set for our next lesson, once I've measured for the length and size."

"Yes, sensei," Miho responded, eyes setting on smooth looking objects that fell with clinks from the bag. On closer inspection, she found that they looked to be made of ivory, and had been smoothed, buffered, and shaved so well into squared, cubic forms that it was nearly as beautiful to Miho as the koto itself.

"You will wear three of these; one for the thumb and two for the first two fingers. The left edge of this," Hayami directed, pointing with her sharply pristine forefinger, "is what you will be using to pluck with the thumb. The right edge will be used for the other tsume. Understood?"

Miho instantly caught on, nodding in quick fascination to the contents of the lesson.

"Good, there may yet still be hope for you, student." Hayami released a tentative grunted of approval before snatching Miho's hand. She wasted no time in beginning the fitting for the tsume. Nonchalant, she murmured, "The best way to sit is the seiza position, as it allows the forty-five degree angle that is optimal for creating the best sound possible with the koto instrument. Now, this is an actual universal, undebatable law, my dear child, as no student of mine will do anything but their best. I can guarantee that to you."

"Yes, sensei," came her soft response as she watched her teacher stuff and snatch away the ivory pieces before finding the one that fit her slim fingers best.

"A size one…not surprised, considering how petite you are." Hayami frowned, "Bigger hands would have been better, but these should do." The older woman squinted at her as if it were all her own fault that she didn't turn out to be bigger in size. Dryly, she continued, "Be sure to drink your milk."

"Yes, sensei."

"Next, I'll teach you how to tune…"

* * *

 **promises to keep**

* * *

"I'll punch her for you, if ya want me to," Mito suggested in all seriousness as she patted the wet cloth that laid over her twin sister's eyes.

"No, it's fine, 'ttekisa. I'll be fine, 'ttekisa."

"I don't know what fine means in your book, but it sounds to me like it's a wrong definition."

Miho sighed, tugging the wet cloth down from her puffy eyes as she gave Mito a look. They stared at each other then and left their argument to thought.

She didn't know why, but they did this a lot; gazing at each other, wordless, yet still communicating something somehow.

Mito huffed out a breath from her nose, tilting her chin up as she became annoyed with what Miho was implying.

"I know you want me to back off now that you have this new dream or something, but you can't just drop that on me so quickly and expect me to back off. I have thoughts and feelings of my own, 'ttebasa!" The redhead brought herself up from her stomach to kneel as she loomed with her shadow over Miho, "Tou-san is taking you away from me with all these lessons, so I haven't been able to do it lately but it's my job! My job, 'ttebasa! I _need_ to protect you, dummy!"

"Oh."

She had no idea whether to be flattered that Mito loved her so much, or annoyed with the fact that she thought of her as such a weak thing. The truth was a hard thing to accept, in most cases. Unable to decide, she decided to let it go altogether.

In the end, Miho somehow found herself laughing.

Mito sat back, arms coming to cross over her chest as she regarded her twin sister with eyes that looked to be as sharp as shuriken, "What're you laughing at?"

"I don't know, but I'm starting to get hungry, so can we talk about this later and go see how long dinner is going to be?"

Mito grinned at the suggestion, "Of course! Food always comes first, even above you."

Miho rolled her eyes in response as she set her cloth away into the water basin beside her futon. Afterwards, she took to standing up. Thankfully, she had to hiss only slightly when applying pressure to her ankle. Strengthened by a revived mood, she set off towards the door.

Usually, she found it was easier to handle pain when thinking of something else.

Food, of course, begged for the attention.

"Hey," Mito said, coming to a full stop right before they entered into the dining quarters. She turned to stare at Miho with heated fervor, "I heard that Izumi-san's dog gave birth, so why don't we head over there after dinner? Should still be light out by then, I think."

"Okay," she agreed, a flush finding its way to her cheeks as she imagined playing with the cute baby pups and its mama. Although, that probably wouldn't happen for a few more weeks. Last time she had been around for the birth of dogs, it had taken nearly an entire two months for her to be able to even go close enough to hold them. She hoped it wouldn't take so long this time.

"Awesome! Let's eat quickly, 'ttebasa!" Mito jumped in the air as she slid the door open and hopped into the room.

Lucky for them, a simple meal had already been laid out on the dinner table.

Their parents had already beaten them there, along with whoever they had invited to join them. It was usually like this on the short days before their father left to lead the clan into clashes with whoever they were fighting with that week. Situations changed so often, Miho didn't even make a point to try and remember the details.

Not that she would ever be asked about it anyway.

Her father often complained about how the _system_ worked, but she still didn't understand it very well. As simple as she could explain it; people wanted the missions that rich people wanted done and there was a competition for whoever would get the payment first. At least that was how she thought it worked.

She could very well be wrong.

There was more to it than that, of course. Like, if a clan had a hereditary advantage—or if the clan had a special social standing—it would be the difference between life and death. The lower clans, Miho had learned, often went into hiding or died out, due to the bigger families slaughtering them or just by the mere effect of being poor and starving.

Miho couldn't say for sure, but she was pretty sure that the Uzumaki clan was one of the strongest around—but that could've also be the sense of pride that floated around their island like an illness.

She did know that factually, the _Senju_ clan was one of the top clans—next to the Uchiha, of course. Her father liked talk about it, about how his new best friend was a leader that could even convince _him_ to follow. Which was an impressive feat if her mother's talks about his teenage years was anything to take into consideration.

"Have a seat, dears," their mother told them, waving at the free spots on the left of the already crowded table. It took Miho a second to realize who they were to be entertaining that night; convoys for the Daimyos and three of them at that. They must have been there for seals.

Adjusting her obi and raking her hair back behind her ear, she kept her gaze low before bowing and passing the threshold of the room. Mito reluctantly went along with her actions and seconds later, they found themselves sitting thigh to thigh at the table.

Unconsciously, she settled herself into the oh so painful seiza position, very nearly forgetting the fact that her ankle had swollen up. It was a bitter reminder but she did her best to bear it without expression. The most she allowed herself was a tiny grunt of pain and it escaped past her lips without her control. Miho shook herself from it and instead faced her father, who watched her closely.

He didn't seem to notice it.

He nodded towards her, looking proud of them before he boomed out cheerfully, "Now that my beautiful girls have appeared, let's enjoy this great food. No sense in waiting for the miso to freeze."

The convoys chuckled amongst themselves readily as they all echoed the usual words spoken before eating, before they snapped their wooden chopsticks apart.

Miho mirrored them, picking apart her grilled fish and kept silent as she waited for the dinner conversation to pick up.

"How did your koto lessons go?" Miyoko, their mother asked, smiling at any prospective news. How she hadn't ever doubted Miho was a marvel of sorts, but then again she was also fairly vacant in the head—a usual trait for the bearer of seals on the skin. Sometimes people took too much upon themselves, all for the preservation of the Uzumaki fuinjutsu, and her mother was of no exception.

"They went okay," Miho replied with, eager to please.

"I see that your posture has improved," her mother gushed, eyeing the way her every limb was kept. "Have you started practicing any songs yet?"

"Yes, but I'm still really new to it. Remembering the thirteen strings and their sounds is only the first step, after all. Takemura-sensei says that I'll need to get better at multitasking, and that I need to drink more milk."

In response, her father beamed with pride, "See, I just _knew_ that you would do well with this. You're always singing, my sweet flower."

Miho blushed and soared inwardly at the unusually high praise she was receiving. She _really_ hadn't been expecting it to happen—a sharp contrast in comparison to the gazes of disappointment that lingered around her every action. It sure was a nice change of pace.

"Train up well, okay, dear? Soon you will be a great help to our clan, I'm sure," her mother murmured.

She wasn't exactly sure how _that_ would work out—playing music wasn't exactly the greatest importance in terms of training to become a ninja. Either way, she was just appeased with the words they had already given her.

"Oh, before I forget, you're starting fuinjutsu classes tomorrow, okay, girls?" their dad informed them, inciting a cry of excitement from Mito and a look of raw concern from Miho.

She prayed that she would do well, clenching her fingers into fists to calm the sudden butterflies that appeared in her stomach.

The dinner went on pleasantly from there, the convoys speaking up every now and then about the taste of the food, words being said that would be sure to put a glow on Orino's face if she had heard.

The end of the dinner hour couldn't come fast enough, excited at the prospect of getting to see the puppies.

As soon as they were allowed out of sight—their father excusing them so that he would be able to discuss business—they darted out of the front entrance and ran down the stone path to get to the outermost part of the village, quick in the search of Izumi's house.

It was easy to find after all the times they had been there in the past for miscellaneous things, the home being a larger one in comparison to the smaller, outlying abodes. It was even in a more privatized section of the island, the one that had been nary touched by a hand other than the clearing of a few trees here and there. Although, they didn't play there very often—Izumi joined them at the orphanage more often than not—and for it, she knew very little else about the place other than the location.

Slowly nearing the place of her thoughts, it was as if the very thought of her friend summoned her, the slight, waifish girl standing at the front of the house, hopping down the stepping stones one at time before taking note of the twins upright in her path.

"Yo," Mito greeted carelessly, grinning, "how are the puppies? Anything we can do?"

Izumi titled her heart shaped face before bobbing her head, "Sure, 'ttekari! There's still tons to do, like Kaa-san told me. But first, I'm heading out to the markets to the find more blankets. Wanna come with, 'ttekari?"

Miho wasn't so sure, eyeing the long, deserted road that lead into the main part of the village. There were a lot of trees in their way after all, and that meant danger. Besides, walking any further would just irritate her ankle more.

But before she could say anything, Mito chimed in with a cheerful, "We'd love to, 'ttebasa!"

She bit back a sigh as the three went back down the slope before jarring off to the east in their quest for blankets. They had to be careful though, with the way it was getting dark. It'd be easy to fall down the sloping cliff in that lack of lighting and who knew what kind of animals were out there?

Miho was stressed the entire time, feeling as if she were walking on pins and needles while at the same time battling against the pain in her ankle.

She honestly had no intentions to make her situation any worse but she should have _known_ something awful would happen.

It honestly hadn't been her fault, at least not when it happened. To be clear, it was actually very easily just pinned on Mito for liability of the incident. She _was_ , after all, the person who stumbled first, before shoving Miho down the hill in an attempt to reign in her balance.

Too fast, she tipped over and though she flailed for something to grab onto, she hit dirt.

Rolling through bramble, greenery, and anything else nature had to offer, Miho crashed down quickly through the hill. Nicking herself on nearly every piece of rock that found her, she marveled in her dizzying daze of disorientation about the irony of Mito's earlier words about being a protector.

Seemed more like she was trying to get her killed.

The end came quickly after as she slammed right into a tree, knocking her head against it before she stumbled in trying to understand what had just occurred. Her vision turned hazy as she struggled to kneel in place, her entire body throbbing in pain— _agony_.

"No, please," she heard herself whisper as she gave up on moving and instead collapsed to the ground, panting while struggling to regain her breath. "C-can't…breathe…"

It took several minutes that felt like _hours_ to regain any sense of motion in her body but the most she could do was shift onto her stomach and look around where she laid.

It was enough.

In the time it took for her vision to clear up enough to see it, she was frozen—both in shock and confusion.

Right there, before her very eyes, stood a fox with hair as fiercely colored as her very own.

Miho turned silent, holding in her breath so much that her lungs began to _burn_.

There was just something commanding about the fox's presence, and the ethereal quality of the mild lighting mingling with the sun-kissed fur left Miho near immovable. She blinked furiously when she noted the way it watched her back before tipping its head back, almost like it was laughing.

At a lost for word or reason, she found herself unconsciously moving closer to the wild beast. She wasn't sure why but compelled to, she reached out—a loud, trilling yelp sounded somewhere above her and then something—or _someone_ crashed into her.

"Ah! I found ya!" It was Mito's unmistakable voice and Miho watched, with disappointment heavy in her gaze, as the fox quickly hopped out of sight.

Seeing such a beautiful creature leave before she even had the chance to look at it properly, paired with the blazing pain that covered her toe to the tip of her scalp, left her a state of disheveled misery. She was past thinking as exhaustion set in.

She began to heave out sobs instead.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, 'ttebasa! Dattebasa, I'm sorry!" Mito cried out, assuredly panicked. "I'll get you home, okay, 'ttebasa? I'm sorry, dattebasa!"

* * *

 **promises to keep**

* * *

"Huh."

"W-What?" Miho's delicate head bobbed up, slightly alarmed and disgruntled alike as she turned to gaze up at her new teacher. It hurt to move, as it had turned out that she'd dislocated her right arm, broken her left pinky-toe somehow, and had sprained both of her ankles. As such, she was sorely behind in her studies as most of her teachers had taken one look at her before sending her back home. Not very many of them cared to be around the sopping mess she would become once the pain became too much to bear.

But her newest teacher had been different; he'd even offered to dress her wounds before they carried on with instructions.

"I was told, quite honestly, that you might be the worst at this," the man said, eyeing her carefully.

She swallowed and looked down at the seal work she had just managed to do, and noted how soft it looked compared to the example piece she had learned from. The lines were too delicate, and the curves lackluster in comparison. Kiyoshi, her teacher, surely noted all this and was just as disappointed in her that she had come to expect.

"For a first timer," he began, his gaze on her heavy in weight as he squinted at her face, "you are shaping up to be quite the sealer. I haven't seen such talent in a long while, Miho-chan. Be sure to nurture it."

His parting words were simple as he stood up from his crouch, turning his back to the girl whose face reddened in both shock and joy. Miho tried to call out, in order to properly thank him, but her throat constricted with heavy emotions and she bowed her face behind her long sleeves in fear of being found out.

Tears quickly found their way in coating the lashes of her eyes and she blinked the blinding wetness away.

It was right at that very second that she overheard someone yelping in pain. She quickly turned to look and was nearly blindsided by the vision of Genta cramming his hands—folded in the tora sign—right up Yuusei's rear end.

Her eyes widened, her jaw going slack.

"Don't talk about her like that!" Genta cried out, face red with anger before he burst out into snickers at the realization of his actions. The others around him reacted similarly while looking on.

Kiyoshi released a long drawn out sigh, "Boy, what did I tell ya 'bout that? No more ass-pokin'!"

"But he was saying mean things!" the redheaded child readily defended himself.

Their shared teacher gave him another long drawn out sigh, matched with an unrelenting stare, "And what about?"

Genta jumped in surprise at the sudden question, eyes sliding to look over at Miho before looking to his feet, "Nothin', Sensei."

Miho promptly blinked, brows furrowing as her thoughts formed a conclusion. For whatever reason, she could see that Yuusei had been talking bad about her again, and that Genta was only trying to stick up for her. On the other hand, she had no clue why he would be withholding such information if it were truthful.

Did he wish to spare her ill feelings?

Her heart warmed at the thought and she turned her head away from the scene in front of her as she looked back down at her seal work.

She smiled.

* * *

 **promises to keep**

* * *

"How dare you touch Yuusei when you're only an orphan!?" Kyuu demanded to know, outraged by what Genta had done.

Yama stepped forward, scowling with a hand placed roughly to her hip, "What gives you the right to talk to my boy that way, huh!?"

Mito growled besides her in agreement, glaring daggers at the side of village kids on Yuusei's side of the argument.

"What's it to you two?" Yuusei grumbled out. "Let us at him! He's only getting what he deserves, after all. I was only speaking the truth when I said that Miho was useless."

Her eyes twitched, but she looked to Genta, whose eyes widened in meeting her gaze before he looked nervously away. Her suspicions had been confirmed and it left Miho bewildered more than she thought she'd be. Worse was the seconds passing in tense silence and her thoughts, memories, the voices that echoed from the past.

She'd heard all of it already and knew the truth of it.

Through her head ran what felt like millions of insults that had been tossed about around her like slaps to the face or wrist. The idea of all the people in her life that had defended her against the truth of what those vile words had been, left her feeling hollow.

Instead of learning from them, instead of changing like she had promised Hashirama, she had been hiding only behind excuses and the support group that had somehow stuck around throughout the years. Instead of feeling grateful, she felt ashamed and instead of feeling mere anger, she felt in her being the _fury_ of having been wronged and having wronged someone else.

What a pathetic person she had grown to be!

Lazy, useless, and waste of air, Miho wasn't the person she had envisioned herself becoming.

She was tired, in pain, and flustered beyond belief as she watched her friends and sister battle with the other kids in the village.

 _She_ was the cause of this.

In her body was a soul tired beyond belief of all the violence, all of the tears, and all of the stress.

She'd had _enough._

It was time to change before something bad happened—for good.

In her eyesight, she watched as Yuusei lunged at Genta, but before anything could befall her benefactor, Miho launched herself at her cousin.

Grappling for control, she ignored all other pain in her body as she bit him violently in god only knows where. The metallic smell of blood filled the air and the taste of it coated her tongue as she released a high pitched shriek in absolute fury at the sort of person that had made her violent.

It was only after the damage was done that it sank in; the recognition that she was no better than him.

Miho tried not to cry, releasing her hold on him as she looked down on the boy who had been her tormentor since a very small age. She felt only regret and sadness for what she had done. Miho shouldn't have blamed it on him—her misdemeanors.

She just didn't want it, the ability to be an angry person. She wanted it _out_ of her.

It was _so_ very exhausting and it was in acknowledging that and the self hate that she felt the final nail in the coffin to her hopes of a shinobi finally sink in. Miho simply couldn't do it, unlike what her family wanted of her. She could not become the violent, and blood seeking ninja she had thought she was meant to be.

Truth had a face and it was two-sided, like all others.

Exhausted, she sighed, and fought off the grimace at tasting the blood still in her mouth. The only relief was when her vision cleared of haziness and she was able to see much better. For the first time in a long while, she saw with a crystal clear gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said softly and meant it with all of her soul.

Yuusei looked like a mess, and it was then that she felt dawning comprehension of what she was actually seeing. It was a heavy moment to realize she was stronger than she had originally thought, as she looked closely at the deep, still bleeding lacerations on the meatier part of his forearm. Tears sprang up in his eyes before he released a violent sob, his chest heaving beneath her legs.

Miho panicked, "I'm sorry, 'ttekisa! I'll take you to the healers, 'ttekisa!"

"Woah," someone exhaled behind her and she looked to see Yama grinning. Nodding at her approvingly, the older girl gave an affirming sigh, "That settles it. You'll be the oni in the game of Kagome, Kagome from now on. Everyone will be scared of you for weeks!"

She was helpless as the others around her began to laugh.

But then…that was only just the start.

* * *

 **promises to keep – end**

* * *

So this chapter still needs to go through another round of edits, for fair warning! **Enbi** has been focusing a lot of her time on finishing something really special (be excited) and hasn't had much time to get around to helping edit this. **Enbi** is far better at noticing my mistakes than I am, but the edits should be coming soon and updating will go back to proceeding as normally.

Song for this chapter; Gentou Yuukaku by Seifuumeigetsu

(the voice is actually how I picture Miho's singing to be like)

* * *

References Explained:

Seiza Position – formal way of sitting, sitting with buttocks on the back of the heels that sit in a 'v' shape.

Tsume – the picks the play/strum a koto, this translates into nail. There are two types of tsume; ikuta and yamada. I went with the former, in this case, as it's the most traditional form of tsume.

Furisode – is a style of kimono that is easily distinguishable by its long sleeves, which range in length from 85 cm (33.4 in) for a kofurisode (小振袖/little swinging sleeves) to 114 cm (44.9 in) for an ōfurisode (大振袖/big swinging sleeves).

Hakama – cloth that is tied at the waist and falls approximately to the ankles, typically worn over a kimono. Two types; divided ( _umanori_ ) and undivided ( _andon bakama_ ).

Kagome, Kagome – a Japanese children's game that is popular in horror stories and creepypasta. In the game, one player is chosen as the _oni_ and sits with their eyes covered. The other children join hands and walk in circles around the oni while chanting the song for the game. When the song stops, the oni tries to name the person standing directly behind them. There's a lot of meaning in the name of the game itself, such as "bird in the cage" or "circle you".


End file.
